


Why Would I Want To?

by lonniek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but like blink and you'll miss it), Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Demigirl Scott McCall, First Kiss, Lapdance, M/M, Trans Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonniek/pseuds/lonniek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selena Gomez is reimagined as Isaac Lahey, and Scott McCall is his biggest fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Would I Want To?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the whole reason this exists is because I was listening to Selena Gomez and said... “what if Isaac Lahey was Selena Gomez and Scott was his biggest fan?” What I was not expecting was to be so entranced by the idea... I would apologize, but I’m really not sorry.
> 
> Unbetad because I only wrote this to get it out so I could work on Secret Santa stuff so sorry for the type-os!!

The crowd is already loud, and the show hasn’t started yet. Bodies push and pulse in the pit at the front of the stage, and Stiles’ elbow keeps bumping into Scott’s ribcage, but she knows he can’t help it. There’s not enough space for all of the people that are stuffed into the small space, and yet here they are, because Isaac Lahey has finally come to Beacon Hills.

When Scott saw the update on her Facebook page, she called Stiles and begged him to go with her to the concert. She promised to buy him dinner for a month, cover for him whenever he’s sneaking out of the house, and even went so far as to try to pawn off her XBox when Stiles agreed. He’d been planning to the whole time, but he admits that it’s kind of nice to watch her beg.

And so here they are, buzzing with excitement and holding the backstage passes that Stiles splurged on, waiting on baited breath for the telltale click of Isaac’s heels on the stage (Scott’s spent a lot of time watching concert footage on the internet). She reaches up to tug at the ends of her hair, where it curls as it gets longer, and takes a deep breath in and prays for the knot in the pit of her stomach to evaporate.

Scott’s never been so nervous in her life. It’s the first time she’s out, dressed like she wants to be. Stiles told her the purple in the dress looked good against her skin, and then blushed so hard that he had to leave the room and tell her to hurry up or they were going to belate. But it was a good confidence booster, a layer of armor against the potential of the rest of the world.  Scott’s lucky it’s an Isaac Lahey concert, that he does all of his shows in fishnets, dresses, and lingerie and nobody gives a damn about what they’re sure to assume is just another boy in a dress.

Someone clears their throat over one of the microphones, a rest probably, but the crowd starts screaming anyway, and Scott lets herself get swept up in the excitement. It’s a concert, after all. They only have to wait for another moment, because then  _Isaac Lahey_ ’s soft chuckle comes through the speakers.

“Do you think they’re ready to get started?” he asks, and there’s a pause before the first click of stiletto hits the stage, and Scott feels the tears hit her face as she screams. The rest of the crowd is just as excited, and the set starts with Revival.

It’s a whirlwind of slowly shedding gossamer layers and striking just the right pose as the fans hit Isaac on the stage, billowing the fabric this way and that. All the while, Isaac’s face is never anything but the picture of serene. With the microphone up to his lips and his left hand trailing down his thigh while he sings, Scott has never seen someone look so at home in their body. In the chorus, Isaac leans down, points the mic at the crowd and slowly rolls his hips to the sway of the crowd’s voice. When he takes the mic back up to his mouth, Scott’s trembling.

That same, pulsing, sensuous energy continues into the next song, and then Isaac disappears behind two feather fans for a quick change. While the screen behind him plays a clip from the behind the scenes of the tour, Scott looks over at Stiles. She’s winded and breathless and can’t stop smiling, and Stiles just shoots her a double thumbs up before he claps her on the back. Scott smiles brighter and tucks her shoulder down under his so that they hug from the side.

After he changes, Isaac slows down the concert to run through a few of the slower songs in his set. Scott’s mouth is dry by the time Isaac picks himself up from where he’s been slowly humping the floor while he sings Perfect. After the song ends, after the applause and the catcalls die down, Isaac clears his throat and smiles, lights glinting off his body glitter. Scott sighs: Isaac’s surreal.

“All right,” he coos into the microphone. “It’s that time of the night, where I’d like to invite a lucky somebody up on stage!” The crowd bursts into applause, and Scott jumps up and down while the spotlight roams the audience, waiting for the drumroll to end.

Scott is unprepared for what happens next. The light zigzags in front of her and Stiles, then stops, flooding her section in light and bathing her in the glow of the spotlight. For a second, Scott thinks that Stiles is going to be forced to go up on stage, and Scott is ready to laugh and take enough pictures for blackmail, bu. It’s not until Stiles tugs on Scott’s arm and beckons her to where the crowd is making a path for her up to the stage that she understands that it’s her.  _She’s_  going up on stage. When realization dawns, Scott pulls back on Stiles’ hand, trying to stop, to stay put. Half of her wants to get up on stage: it’s Isaac Lahey, and this is a once in a lifetime chance, but there are so many  _people_.”

“Stiles, I can’t,” she insists, but Stiles just shakes his head and acts like he acan’t hear her and pushes her forward enough that the security guards at the front of the stage can help her up. Scott’s chest siezes in panic and she takes as many dep breaths as she can while she walks over to where Isaac is beckoning her. Isaac beams at her and gives her a round of applause so that the rest of the crowd follows suit. Scott turns pink and smiles,  nervously outward, throwing up her hand in a quick wave before turning back to Isaac.

He’s even more beautiful in person. His body in long and slim and lean and fit and  _tight_ , but he’s got a softness in his cheeks that makes him look sincere. His hair is sweaty and coming undone from it’s perfect coif, the same one that Scott spent twenty minutes trying to perfect in the mirror before giving up this evening.

“Hi,” Isaac says into the microphone, and Scott’s heart flips over in her chest. “What’s your name?” He puts a hand around her waist and brings her closer, so that she can speak down into the mic. Isaac’s sweating a little bit, and his palms are large and firm in her back, a beacon of warmth. Now’s her moment.

Scott’s never said her other name out loud before. She doesn’t really say it to herself either, not yet. It still feels foreign. Scott’s been her name for so long that she doesn’t know if this one will feel right, but she knows that this is her chance to share with the person who made her coming out possible.

She starts to say “Scott,” caught up on what always comes out, then swallows the rest of the name in her throat and says, “Scarlet.” Her voice is wrecked from screaming and singing along, but it feels right. And for a brief moment, the world is serene. Isaac looks so proud, like he knows what she can’t say, and squeezes her just a little tighter. He starts to move on with the next bit of the show, to point out where she should stand to be a part of the song, but then the moment cracks. Someone laughs out in the audience.

It’s a nasty laugh, one that fills Scott to her core with the cold deadness that her father left behind, and she starts to pull out of Isaac’s grip and rush off the stage, but Isaac just closes his hand around her waist and holds her tighter. “Don’t move,” he instructs her, and Scott stays put while he turns around to talk to the rest of the band. When Isaac turns back around, he’s got a sneaky look on his face that fills Scott with the greatest kind of terror.

“Let’s get Scarlet a chair so she can be nice and comfy up here on stage, yeah?” he asks, and the stage hands rush to obey. The chair they come back with is the one that’s supposed to be for his Good for You routine: it’s a long-backed chair with Isaac’s initials curled into the metalwork. Now that she can see it up close, Scott thinks it’s probably leather. Scott’s ushered to sit down, and she does, anxious, confused. This isn’t like the rest of the tour videos she’s watched.

Isaac sets up the band for the next number, and a low fog rolls across the stage. The bass drops and the lights change, and it’s Good for You. Scott’s heart speeds up in her chest again when she connects the fact that she’s sitting in the chair that Isaac is supposed to be straddling, grinding on in about two minutes.  _Oh_.

Oh is right. Not only is it absolutely sinful to see Isaac twirl and sway and dip up close like this, but it’s exhilarating to feel the thrum of the bass under the chair. And all of that pales in comparison to the moment that Isaac finally turns his attention to Scott. He passes off the mic to a stage hand while the musical interlude crescendos and lifts one long, muscular leg over Scott’s thighs, and then sits down. Scott knows the routine, not well enough to do it, but well enough to know the moment that Isaac will turn to face the crowd, v-kick his legs, and slide off her lap to the floor so he can retrieve the mic and finish out the song.

As far as revenge against transphobic assholes, Scott thinks that this may be the best thing he could have ever asked for. Scott could cry. Instead, she just sits and watches Isaac shake his ass and strike the final pose of the song. When it’s over, the crowd goes wild, and Scott claps enthusiastically from behind him.

“Okay, Scarlet, I need your help with this one,” Isaac says, reaching out his hand. He’s got a playful smile on his lips, and Scott feels like maybe she can meet his gaze, so she looks up from under her eyelashes and takes his hand. “How well do you know my songs?” Isaac asks. Scott looks down at her shirt, where Isaac’s face is posterized on the front, and smiles. This is a challenge she knows she can meet.

“I know all of your songs,” Scott enthuses while Isaac leads her center stage. “And all of the words, too.” Isaac looks pleased but unsurprised. Scott thinks he must have mastered that look.

“Good. Then you’ll be able to help me sing this one.” He winks, lifts the microphone up to his lips, and, with his nose dragging up the hair at Scott’s ears, sings, “Can’t keep my hands to myself.” The crowd erupts into choruses of screams as they yell the next line back up at the stage. Scott’s cheeks are pink, but he sings quietly along next to Isaac. Just because this is the song that she touches herself to at night doesn’t mean that she can’t sing it.

When the chorus comes, Isaac bounces over to where Scott is, pout on his full lips while he rocks his hips at her. She looks away and back, ashamed, bt Isaac shakes his head and reaches out for her while he sings. She shimmies a little closer, and then Isaac closes the distance until Scott’s legs are wound around Isaac’s and Isaac is doing his very best to tick tock his hips down every inch of her leg. He throws his arm around the back of Scott’s neck and they sing the second verse together into the microphone. The crowd is too loud to be certain, but Scott is pretty sure she can hear Stiles’ wolf whistle.

Isaac and Scott sway freely, bopping around each other and wiggling while they dance together. With each smile that Isaac sends her, Scott’s nerves disappear and the flutter in her heart is more than just the crippling anxiety, but she’ll think later about the way that she’s almost certainly developing a real crush on Isaac Lahey and not just a celebrity infatuation. But right now he’s right here in front of her, giving her bedroom eyes and belting into the mic that he wants it all and nothing else. Scott sings it back, and it’s overwhelmingly true.

The beat drops out as the background singers chorus “can’t keep my hands to myself,” and Isaac, close enough that Scott can see the individual hairs around his ear move, croons, “I mean I could, but why would I want to?” and crushes his lips against Scott’s. In the moment that their lips touch, the rest of the concert disappears. The hum of the people fades away until all Scott can taste is the sweet and salty tang of Isaac’s mouth and the distinct waxy flavor of lipstick. It’s over too soon, and then Isaac winks and repeats what his backup singers have been saying.

“Can’t keep my hands to myself.” The song ends, the lights drop, and Isaac has to run off stage to change again, but Scott couldn’t care less as she’s led down the steps to collect the rest of her party and watch the rest of the concert from backstage. This, she knows, has never happened on a tour before. The flashing lights in her eyes are bright and she’s dizzy and overwhelmed as Stiles slaps her five and starts taking pictures of the lipstick all over her mouth, relenting only to wrap her up in a hug.

“So, Scarlet?” Stiles asks, and Scott shrugs, and then nods.

“Sometimes, I guess. Yeah.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah? Yeah.”

“Solid. So, are you and Isaac gonna need some space after the concert?” Stiles jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Because I hate to remind you of this, but I’m your ride home and your mom would  _literally_  kill me if I let you go be a groupie.” Scott slaps Stiles in the arm and rolls her eyes and the conversation ends there. They both know Stiles is mostly joking, and they watch the rest of the concert in amiable silence.

What happens after the concert is better than all of that. Once all of the backstage passholders have been accommodated and the press junket is done and Isaac has finally had the opportunity to take off his shoes and change, he come out of his dressing room with the same 1000 watt smile he unloads onto the crowd every night. Without all of the makup and product, it’s even brighter.

“So, Scarlet,” Isaac says, and she’s devastated by his charm once again. “Can you point me to a good place to get ice cream at 2:30 in the morning?”

Scott’s pretty sure while she and Isaac watch the sunrise from her favorite spot on the preserve, that a pint of Ben and Jerry’s has never tasted so good.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [tumblr](http://demigirlisaaclahey.tumblr.com)!


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